


Fly To Me From the Moon

by Gozufucker



Category: Fate/EXTRA, Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Flow of Consciousness, Is she a real ghost? Just a mental image?, No Dialogue, Phantom - Freeform, mutual love, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 05:52:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16444082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gozufucker/pseuds/Gozufucker
Summary: One night in Chaldea, a man headed for hell reminisces about his wife on the moon.





	Fly To Me From the Moon

The clattering of his armor was all the sound that echoed through the empty hallways of Chaldea at night. His friend, dearest master, had already retired for the night, and most of the Servants contracted to them had also fallen into a deep slumber, or they spent their time elsewhere than here. However, Vlad felt no longing for their company. Not out of rudeness, even if many of them were of the wicked sort that he oh-so despised, but out of a longing for company that no living being could give to him, not even if this whole earth loved by God was in the full bloom it was meant to be.

Eventually, he finds himself seated on one of the many benches in front of the windowed area dedicating to showing what laid outside of Chaldea: mile after mile of snow and ice and despair, and the remnants of a burned-to-pitch world. However, his interest did not lay on the ground where mortal men such as he used to walk, but rather, his eyes trail upwards , past the dark blue skies and to the white, full moon illuminating it all, as if day had risen in the middle of the night. The light shines off of his bright red eyes, a beautiful sight he himself could not appreciate even if he loved himself- he was Satanic, after all.

The wine he had brought would last him for hours if he was conservative with his drinking, quietly filling the old goblet he had managed to secure from that King who called himself the King of all Heroes. A pauper he was, but he had managed to convince him all the same with promises of paying back this loan. And so he would... He was a Godly man, and holding onto such things as loans for too long felt inappropriate of him. He brings it to his lips and sips, the taste not washing away all the blood in his mouth, be it as dried as it may.

He knew many considered the moon to be beautiful: he had read far too much poetry on the subject in his attempts to educate himself on modern literature after being summoned. Even Chaldea had it's fair share of lovers of Diana, that mad emperor among them. However, he did not love the moon itself. He loved what had once laid on its surface, or rather, perhaps below it. He only knew that whenever he beheld it, he could feel the connection to his wife become ever stronger, as if she was there, waiting for him to come and save her from purgatory. He knew such a want was sinful: purgatory was but a test... Yet all he wished was to rescue her from there and hold her all the same.

His memories of her were hazy at best- she was a woman who loved more than anyone he knew before, and she was a beautiful woman as well, however... Her beauty faded away for too quickly, her body far more bone and skin than it was flesh. He remembered the tinge of depression he felt when his arms had been wrapped around her body in a protective embrace. However, he had not commented on it... Even as her husband, he felt respectful of her. Norms had changed, and husband was never meant to lord over wife. She had always been his equal, even when he was the husband yet even when she was the Master- a relationship built on mutual, warm love that heated their hearts in a world that wanted both of them dead, a cursed cube that held them both prisoners to their wishes.

He doesn't even remember lifting his hand to reach out to the moon, the spikes of his gauntlet gently touching the glass until they sink deeper, a hellish noise quietly wailing as he scratches the glass in his attempt to reach out to the women on the moon, eventually pulling his hand back as he stares at the palm. Empty- Or not. No-one can see it, but he can see the faded out, long sleeve he misses every day gently wrap around his, the fabric oh-so fluffy as it leads onwards up a thin arm, and to an elbow, until his eyes go up a neck and to the pale, white face of his beloved wife.

Run Ru smiles. He couldn't even recall her name until now, the rays of the moon, pure white and light blue painting her onto the opposite end of the beach, her figure silent and weightless as it simply holds his hand, her touch warmer than even hellfire despite her figure being so ethereal. Vlad III Țepeș, or Vlad III Dracul, or simply Vlad, smiled so brightly he couldn't even contain his joy. It was warm, nothing alike the crazed smiles he often passed to his victims as he drained them of their blood with his claws or spears or stakes or noble phantasm.

He offered the goblet to her, however she refuses with a shake of her head, fluffy, red hair shaking with her head as he chuckles quietly and brings it up to his lips, celebrating his love with this woman from the moon in front of her, feeling her close the distance as this painting by the moon and glass before him clings to him, hugging him, her long sleeves draping down to the dusty floor of Chaldea. His eyes close as he wraps one hand around this image, this phantom, and drinks down another glass of wine.

Vlad III sits alone for the rest of the night- or does he? If that mad emperor happened to pass by, he could swear Goddess Diana was playing a trick on another fool just as insane as he was... However, perhaps this trick was one of love. Of maddening love. Of love that could devour a far too careless: he thanks God he does not mind as long as it's her.


End file.
